


Notebook

by PhoenixScript



Category: Sunshine (2007)
Genre: Character Study, Gen, Platonic Soulmates, Slice of Life
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-13
Updated: 2018-10-13
Packaged: 2019-08-01 15:36:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,171
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16287248
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PhoenixScript/pseuds/PhoenixScript
Summary: Capa is used to seeing - and ignoring - the various odds and ends his team members leave lying around the common areas of Icarus II. But one night he discovers something that sparks his curiosity...





	Notebook

_____

All the graveyard shifts go to Capa, now.

He doesn’t mind it - his work has no time constraints, and the more he can keep to himself, the happier he is, honestly.

Of course, it means that he spends at least one of his meals every day completely alone, but he doesn’t mind that either. Usually, he’ll just grab something from the freeze-dried stores that no one touches and sit down in his spot on the corner bench, foregoing the table entirely. 

As time goes on, however, he comes to realize that even without the company of his fellow crew members, he is constantly encountering evidence of their presence. Six months into the mission now, and everyone seems to have developed the same bad habit of leaving things in the common room. 

He’s seen snacks. Socks. A music player. Mace’s pocket knife. Datapads. Books and magazines. Even speaker tags, once. All just strewn about on the table, the seats, the floor. 

Capa doesn’t touch any of it, only notices and then continues with whatever he’s doing. He can’t be bothered to figure out what belongs to whom - if they really need it they’ll find it themselves. So he just leaves it all alone. 

Tonight, it’s a notebook that he finds - impossible to ignore this time, as it’s wedged between the seat cushions he means to sit on. He tugs it out, turning it over in his hands, and upon closer inspection he recognizes the same thin, plain black journal that was issued to all of them when they left Earth. He’s about to put it back the way he found it when it occurs to him that he hasn’t seen his own notebook since last night, in this very same spot.

Frowning, he slides his thumb between the pages and lets the book fall open in his lap.

It isn’t his.

Instead of precisely scrawled rows of equations and numbers and algorithms, a simple but beautiful script lines the paper sheets inside. He moves to close the journal, but something about the words captures his attention for just a moment, and his eyes fall on a block of text on the facing page, so neat and deliberate that it reminds him of an equation.

_Destined for the sun_

_Whole worlds within you_

_Darkness and light, an enigma, a beautiful mind_

_More than you seem._

_The fate of mankind you bear_

_To bring new life from utmost destruction_

The words are haunting, somehow, invoking an ache of familiarity in his chest though he’s never seen them before. It takes him aback, and he sits very still for a minute, staring unseeing at his shoes. Only when his speaker tag chirps at him to signal the last hour of his shift does he stir, getting to his feet and heading for the door.

____

“Hey.”

Cassie disengages from her book with a start, raising her eyes to Capa’s. For the briefest of moments she remains far away, lost in the world he’s pulling her from; but then she blinks, and gives him a rather surprised smile.

“Hey,” she says, a question in her inflection.

He holds out the notebook, gaze drifting around the flight deck before settling back on Cassie. “I found this in the common room.”

Eyes widening in recognition, she rises, and takes the journal almost too quickly. She flips it open, pales slightly, and snaps it shut again.

“Thank…” her voice comes out a bit thin, and she clears her throat and tries again. “Thanks, Capa.” Her brow furrows. “How did you know it was mine?” She hesitates, then adds, “...did you read it?”

He shrugs, nods. “Yeah. I thought it was mine.”

She arches an eyebrow at his instant admission, grip tightening on the spine of the notebook. “I see.” 

He shifts, not quite uncomfortable but not sure of himself either. “But I don’t write poetry.” He gives her a tentative smile. “I didn’t think anyone else did either, so I figured it was probably you.”

She laughs - kind of - but he can’t tell if she’s amused or offended. Her lips turn downward in a pensive sort of frown as she shakes her head, opening the book again. “How much did you read?”

“Only one poem,” he hurries to clarify. “The one about the payload.”

He’s expecting her to look embarrassed, or even angry; but instead, she looks confused. “About the…” She fans the pages against her thumb, squinting at the contents. Then, to his surprise, she hands it back to him. “Which one?”

He furrows his brow, but opens the journal when she raises her eyebrows.

It doesn’t take him long to find it, and he gives her the notebook as he brushes his fingertip over the print. “This one.”

She stares at the poem, so still and so expressionless that Capa begins to feel uneasy.

“I’m sorry,” he ventures finally, running his fingers through the soft shorter hair at the back of his neck. “I wasn’t trying to -”

“No, it’s okay,” she cuts in, and there’s a strange breathlessness to her tone. He again finds himself bewildered by her expression, and he searches her face for hints of anger or amusement, but he can’t see any definitive signs of either.

She takes a step closer to him, and he flinches a little, not knowing what to expect.

“What did you think?” she asks, seriously, hugging the book to her chest.

He pauses, relaxing slightly as he considers this.

“You understand it,” he says at last, and if she can tell he’s a little impressed, he doesn’t care. “My bomb -...” he stops, reflexively, pressing his lips together. “The stellar bomb is a scientific masterpiece, but there’s more to it than that.” He frowns, glancing at the windows, where the velvety blackness of space is peppered with billions of stars just like the one they're headed toward. “No one _thinks_ of it as anything more, though,” he continues, making eye contact with her. “No one has. Except you.”

Cassie studies him for a moment, and then she smiles, eyes soft in a way he doesn’t quite understand. “There's so _much_ more though, isn't there?" she murmurs, tilting her head. ‘The fate of mankind you bear, to bring new life from utmost destruction.’”

He nods, feels his lips quirk in a quiet smile. “Exactly.”

____

Cassie watches him go, tracing the surface of the journal with her finger. When he’s out of sight, she turns to the pages full of poetry there towards the middle, little pieces she’s done for every member of _Icarus II_. Corazon’s is the longest. Mace’s the most technical. Kaneda’s and Searle’s are straightforward, Trey’s is emotional, Harvey’s is mawkishly sentimental. Hers isn’t finished - it’s so much easier to find the voices of the others than her own - and then Capa’s is there a few pages later, the final and the shortest, transparently complex just like its subject.

And, she supposes, resting the book against her forehead to hide a smile, just like the payload.

____


End file.
